It honours an ambitious story that, beneath its droll satire, asks nothing less than what life is for. His lyrics teem with pithy phrases, specific and vivid references, and challenging ideas. There isn’t one lazy rhyme or vague platitude. Phil eventually discovers that love is in the details – a luminous idea reflected formally in Minchin’s exquisite craftsmanship. He’s aided by Minchin’s dazzling, eclectic score, which darts between an incisive takedown of those who promise cure-all solutions – from religious fanatics to alternative therapists proffering reiki or enemas – and a jagged, daringly bleak grunge-rock song as Phil tries various methods of suicide. But he can’t bullshit his way into his producer Rita’s heart (or bed), and it’s only when he takes a genuine interest in other people’s lives, instead of manipulating them for his own benefit, that he finds meaning and purpose. He initially uses his time-warp existence to fuel his predatory pickup artist activities – as though each woman is a level on a video game he can keep playing until he wins it. In fact, there’s a hint of Succession: You could easily imagine Kendall Roy, as Phil does here, demanding the cops find a “fast lane for celebrities” through the blizzard-struck roads. Karl delivers an even richer portrait of Phil this time around – and, unlike Bill Murray’s laconic version, his begins explicitly sleazy, nasty, and supercilious. That’s balanced with endearingly low-tech theatrical solutions to questions like “How do you stage a car chase?” Answer: with handheld miniature vehicles and houses, and a dose of knowing humour.īut Groundhog Day isn’t just a logistical tour de force: it’s also a complex, witty, and deeply empathetic drama. There are incredible feats of staging in which Karl seems to be in two places at once (the illusions, by Paul Kieve, draw rapturous applause) while the ensemble, brilliantly drilled by Lizzi Gee, has absolute clockwork precision. Each scene has to play out exactly as it did on the “previous” Groundhog Day, but with subtle variations (like Constellations on a larger scale), as Phil is first baffled, then infuriated, liberated, nihilistic, and finally accepting of his situation. Matthew Warchus (who also collaborated with Minchin on Matilda) creates his own kind of magic through the astonishing repetitions in Phil’s purgatorial trap – even slicker here in this streamlined revival. Or, as he grumbles in his dismissive opening number, “talking to hicks about magical beavers.” Phil becomes trapped in the small town of Punxsutawney, Philadelphia, after reluctantly reporting on whether its resident groundhog has seen its shadow, which would mean six more weeks of winter. The magnificent Andy Karl, who won an Olivier for his smooth-talking, jaded weatherman Phil Connors, reprises the role. This fresh run proves once again that the production is a timeless triumph. ![]() It’s not just the inspired time-loop premise of Danny Rubin’s tale – first seen in his 1993 existential romcom movie, then in this stage musical adaptation with Tim Minchin for the Old Vic in 2016 – but the extraordinary intricacy of both writing and staging, which mean that each encounter with it reveals new wonders. If any show was tailor-made for repeat viewings, it’s Groundhog Day.
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